It Was for a Case, I Swear!
by dumpling47
Summary: One-shot. John happens upon Sherlock's iPod and discovers that he has very, er, *interesting* taste in music. Purely crack; inspired by a recent Benedict Cumberbatch clip.


_"Sherlock Holmes, how many times to I have to tell you not to steal my laptop!?"_

John's positively fuming. Sherlock looks up, expression innocent.

"Mine was -"

"Upstairs, right. I'm sure." John licks his lips furiously. "Just do me a favor, okay? Respect my privacy for once, and stop leaving your bloody laptop where you can't reach it!"

John storms out of the room in a huff, five feet and six inches of absolute fury. He knows he can't reason with Sherlock; when has he ever been able to before? It's not as though he has anything incriminating on his computer, anyway. Porn, maybe, from months ago. A couple of silly poems to old girlfriends. Nothing too terribly life-ruining.

He still wants revenge, though, but for now, he figures he might as well retrieve Sherlock's laptop for him and do a swap. Just this once, though; he's done fetching Sherlock's possessions ... after this.

John reaches Sherlock's room and looks around for the computer in question. It isn't in plain sight - not that Sherlock leaves things out in the open.

However, he does come upon something of similar interest - and much more unexpected ...

... a silver iPod classic, right on the bedside table.

John's eyes bug out in a way he imagines must look cartoonish. He hadn't even realized Sherlock _had_ an iPod. Immediately, he's curious: what sort of music does his enigmatic flatmate listen to, anyway? Violin concertos, probably, to help him think. Any type of classical music, really.

For some reason, John looks anyway. To his surprise, amongst all the Bach and Mozart, there's dozens of contemporary artists, too. By this point, John doesn't even care if he's snooping anymore; this is too good to be true.

One standout is Pink Floyd's _The Wall_. The entire album. Really, though, John doesn't know why he's surprised; its theme of self-imposed isolation is so ridiculously Sherlock-y. There's others, too: Coldplay, The Doors, Nina Simone ...

_Damn,_ John can't help but think, _he's actually got pretty good taste._

He's already beginning to lose hope - the hope that he can embarrass his flatmate a little (all in the name of vengeance, of course) - when he happens across the 'Party' playlist.

John clicks on it and finds himself even more stunned than before. This ... is ... impossible. 'Gangnam Style'? _'Thrift Shop'!?_ These are recent dancefloor anthems and there is no way in hell Sherlock would possibly know about them, let alone decide to download the mp3s. John's trying desperately to contain his laughter, but by the time he's scrolled down to Baauer's 'Harlem Shake', he's lost it completely.

Sherlock's on him within seconds. "What's so fun-" he stops on the threshold. Freezes. For a moment his expression betrays him - a look of complete horror, immediately concealed.

"That's mine," he says - but having realized that he's walked into a trap, clamps his mouth shut.

"I know," John says with a small giggle. "And I suppose you put the 'Party' playlist together too, huh?"

"That was for a case," Sherlock says quickly, his pale cheeks flushing. "The potential victim of a serial killer was known to frequent clubs that played music of that kind, and I had to blend in, had to know how to, er, dance to those particular songs so I wouldn't appear conspicuous -"

"You _what?_" This is even funnier than ever. Sherlock Holmes, doing the Harlem Shake? Oh, dear God.

"One has to be willing to go out on a limb for their work, John," Sherlock says irritably. "You might not understand that concept, but -"

"Okay, okay," John says, handing over the iPod. "I guess I believe you. The visual's just funny, that's all."

"I'm sure," Sherlock says, straightening his shirt.

John exits the room, fairly certain that after today's incident, Sherlock won't be nicking his laptop anytime soon.

* * *

Yes, there'd been a case. Yes, Sherlock had had to learn those ridiculous dances.

What he hadn't expected, though, was that he'd come to enjoy those party songs so much.

The next morning, once John's left for work, Sherlock shoves in his ear buds and turns the 'Party' playlist up loud. First song: Justin Timberlake's 'SexyBack'. Sometimes, when he's feeling like even more of a narcissist than usual, he likes to think of it as his anthem of sorts.

His door's locked, so he doesn't think there's any reason to worry. No one can see him, so why bother?

What he doesn't realize is that he has the music blasting so loud, and that his 'dancing' (or, rather, the flailing of his lanky limbs) is so noisy that he's attracted Mrs. Hudson's attention. And it just so happens that John has been cancelled at work, so he's conveniently home, too. Needless to say, they're both posed outside Sherlock's bedroom door, listening to each and every song he plays and snickering all the while.

At long last, John has found himself in possession of the ultimate trump card.

* * *

_**A/N: This fic was inspired by a goofy video of Benedict doing the Harlem Shake ... though not exactly in the way you'd expect. Don't ask, just watch ... I'm sure it's on YouTube or something ;)**_


End file.
